Supplemental Materials

What is included with this book?

The New copy of this book will include any supplemental materials advertised. Please check the title of the book to determine if it should include any access cards, study guides, lab manuals, CDs, etc.

The Used and Rental copies of this book are not guaranteed to include any supplemental materials. Typically, only the book itself is included. This is true even if the title states it includes any access cards, study guides, lab manuals, CDs, etc.

Summary

The first novel from the New York Times bestselling author of The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club is a rollicking tale of small-town peculiarity, dark secrets, and one extraordinary beauty pageant. When her husband is offered a post at a small university, Maye is only too happy to pack up and leave the relentless Phoenix heat for the lush green quietude of Spaulding, Washington. While she loves the odd little town, there is one thing she didn't anticipate: just how heartbreaking it would be leaving her friends behind. And when you're a childless thirtysomething freelance writer who works at home, making new friends can be quite a challenge. After a series of false starts nearly gets her exiled from town, Maye decides that her last chance to connect with her new neighbors is to enter the annual Sewer Pipe Queen Pageant, a kooky but dead-serious local tradition open to contestants of all ages and genders. Aided by a deranged former pageant queen with one eyebrow, Maye doesn't just make a splash, she uncovers a sinister mystery that has haunted the town for decades. "[Laurie Notaro] may be the funniest writer in this solar system." The Miami Herald From the Trade Paperback edition.

Excerpts

Prologue SPRING, 1956 The moment the girl stepped onto the stage, the circle of aspotlight swung toward her, announcing her presenceabove the audience in a sheer, clean illumination. The crowd beforeher suddenly quieted, as if expecting something truly spectacularto occur. It would have to be spectacular; after all, MaryLou Winton, the contestant before her, had let loose a greasedbaby pig onstage, which she managed to lasso, hog-tie, andbrand—with a branding iron fashioned to look like a sewer pipe,no less—in a definitive nine seconds flat. It was, in fact, confirmedby the audience, who counted down as Mary Lou whippedthat rope and then stomped over to plunge the glowing iron. Andit was further rumored that Ruth Watson was planning to bringher rifle out onto the stage and shoot every winged fowl right outof the sky, all in her evening gown attire, for her talent segment.Farm antics, the girl scoffed to herself, wondering if such athing really could be considered as a talent or just an episode ofunfortunate breeding. She knew she could not let any of thatconcern her as she looked out over the crowd, searching thefaces. She knew almost everyone—everyone who was waiting tohear her sing.She smiled softly, an expression that seemed gentle.If only I had ruby slippers, she thought to herself. The lightthat would have caught them would have been astounding, thesparkle would have bounced off of them like rockets, far moreimpressive than an oily piglet or dead birds. She looked down ather feet, at her pair of last year’s Sunday shoes—now buffed abright cherry red by her father, who had been so proud when hesurprised her with them—and saw that they did not sparkle, butproduced a dull, minuscule shine.Behind her, she heard Mrs. A. Melrose from the church choirbegin playing the piano; this was her cue, and the pianist hadbetter keep time. Although she considered herself a devotedChristian woman overflowing with generosity, Mrs. Melrosethought little of donating her time to the endeavor and suggestedthat instead she exchange her musical services for the girl’s scrubbinga week’s worth of the accompanist’s and her flatulent husband’slaundry. Despite the gruesome task that lay ahead in theMelroses’ wash bin the next day, the girl continued to smile as shedrew a deep, full breath, so full that the replica blue ginghampinafore fashioned from a picnic tablecloth seemed to expandslightly, making the ketchup stains that stubbornly remained onthe cloth look like she had encountered Ruth Watson’s rifle. Shewaited: one, two, three.The next note was hers. She was ready.“Somewheeeeere over the rainbow . . .”Her voice glided sweetly over the stage into the audience andtwirled in the air above them like magic. She could see it on thefaces of the people watching her, listening to her, heads tiltedslightly to the side, as they smiled back at her. This was no pigroping event, and no explosion of feathers was going to trickledown from the clouds.This was talent.I have it, she thought giddily to herself as she finished the firstverse, as her voice continued on clear, strong, and with the righttouch of delicacy. It is mine.She saw him, standing in the back, far beyond the crowd assembledin the square—the most handsome man she had everseen in real life, the one who could save her. With a bouquetspilling with flowers in the crook of his arm, he leaned up againsthis brand-new powder-blue Packard Caribbean convertible withits whitewall tires and gleaming, curvaceous chrome bumpers. Itwas a glorious machine. It suited him. Cars like that were rare inthis town, and so were the men they suited. She saw him smilingat her, and to her he delivered a nod of encouragement.She felt herself blush a shade. The surge of delight was just thepush she needed to soar into the last verse and deliver withearnest, heartfelt yearning, “Why, oh, why can’t I?”The moment the last note evaporated into the air, the crowdburst forth with a shower of applause, the hands of the audienceclapping heartily, and as she looked toward the back of thecrowd, she saw that he was clapping, too, his arms full of tulips,roses, and lilies. Clapping for her.Excitement raced up her spine like a block shooting up to hitthe bell on a Hi Striker carnival game.It was hers, she had done it, she knew it, she owned it. Shecould actually feel the weight of the crown being placed on herhead, she could foresee the way that it would sparkle. She wantedit to sparkle brightly, feverishly, ferociously. Sparkle so bright itwould blind them. Show this town that she was the queen of thisscrap heap, this tiny little town with nothing in it but sewer pipesand waste. From this moment, it was all hers, all of it. If she wanted ruby slippers, she would get ruby slippers, not last year’s fake, cheap Sunday shoes painted red with a dirty rag. She wasmore than that.It was hers, the crown, the town—she had won and she wouldtake it. She knew it like she had never known anything else. As ifthere was any other choice! The pig tosser, the bird slayer? Thiswas now her town, her kingdom.To reign as she saw fit.She smiled sweetly again, then closed her eyes slowly, laid herarm over her chest, holding her hand to her heart the way shehad seen it done in the movies, and crossed one leg deeply behindthe other in what could only be described as a true queenlyand magnificent gesture.And with that, she took a bow.

Excerpted from There's a Slight Chance I Might Be Going to Hell: A Novel of Sewer Pipes, Pageant Queens, and Big Trouble by Laurie Notaro All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.